


Echoes

by PlagueSimulators



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: "I respect you but I'd rather not", Gen, Like Pre-Pre-Relationship, M/M, Older warden, Pining, Pre-Relationship, emotional fallout of Ali's desertion, post landsmeet pre battle of redcliffe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlagueSimulators/pseuds/PlagueSimulators
Summary: The Warden asks for advice before everything goes to shit Yet Again. The best source is not necessarily the most pleasant.
Relationships: Implication of future Loghain/Warden, Loghain Mac Tir & Male Warden, Loghain Mac Tir & Warden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Echoes

Maybe the Blight had already gone to his brain.

The Warden was tall, and he wore his hair long over his armor. He kept it bound up to his head when riding, which was another point against comparison. Loghain had mistaken Maric's careless, flowing locks for vanity, at first. It had been barely an improvement on his judgement when he realized it was simply for forgetfulness.

The differences stopped there, and they continued. A few soldiers still referred to the Commander as 'the Rivaini', even after the man's irritated insistence on his nationality. The remainder would have to be reminded with more bite than the Warden had managed. He was young- maybe older than most of his party, but still young- to be leading an army. Of course he would misjudge the intransigence of his troops.

Loghain, of course, was far from young, and had little care for politic- but if his reputation had been tempered by fear before, it was beyond authority now. His pointed glares were met by angry eyes. Too many of them familiar.

"Lieutenant!"

He mulled briefly over who Marangoz might have reason to single out. Then his brain sputtered, and he turned to the source of the hoarse call. The Warden met eyes, and inclined his head. The assassin at his side seemed forebodingly attentive. Loghain crossed the distance regardless.

Marangoz was looking over a map. A quick glance, and Loghain exhaled through his nose.

"If you are wondering why you cannot find Redcliffe, I can aleve you of any doubts. That version hasn't been updated in twenty years." He paused, and crossed his arms. The dead weight steel of the chevalier armor ground like teeth. "I hope you were not counting on a particular bend in the river."

The Warden hummed, even as his lips quirked so slightly. "Fortunately not. But I was wondering regarding this," he tapped at a section stained with what was either blood or tea. Loghain bent his head to better judge the ink below. Its scrawl transformed from babble into a heavy weight in his chest.

"... That village no longer exists."

"I know." Loghain snapped his head up, and readied a biting accusation, but Marangoz's eyes were still fixed on the map. "We passed through there on our way from Brecilien. I could not find it labeled anywhere else- I thought it might stand for a decent base, for the southern front." He looked at Loghain in open patience.

The blot of brown whatever seemed to spread under the Warden's finger. Another fault in Loghain's eyes, maybe.

".. Under the lee of the ridge, perhaps. There is a cave network that might prove useful for storing supplies- if the darkspawn have not wormed their way up into it from the Deep Roads."

The elf cocked his head. "You are familiar with the area?"

Loghain might have scowled at him, had the Commander not been standing between them. "Very."

Marangoz made as if to speak, when the Crow slipped back in front. "It is rather remote, isn't it? Did you pass by it on your way to Ostagar?"

Loghain set his teeth. He endeavored to clear his voice of more rancor than was acceptable, given who he was now, and what the assassin had become to the commander. "I grew up there." Terse.

The elf leaned back as if in surprise, but his face was watchful. Marangoz blinked, however, seemingly caught in that same surprise he exhibited when told of Loghain's common birth. He stifled the expression swiftly. 

Mateu continued. "I am sure much has changed, but that might still be invaluable." He removed the stone from its corners, and rolled the map back up into a tight scroll. He pivoted and held it out for Loghain. "See if Sabrae might send some of their scouts down, to confirm the region is still uninhabited. I trust you to direct them to specific points."

Trust was a foreign word directed at him. Loghain took the map after a pause, and inclined his head. He waited for the Commander to turn away in dismissal.

Instead he was met by the same steady eyes. As the moment wore on, he saw they were bloodshot, swollen as a drunkard's. But his voice never faltered.

"Do you think I do rightly?"

Loghain stared at him. The odd urge to look over the man's shoulder took over him, long lost to years as Teryn, as General, as the King's right hand. "I think you can spare your doubts for greater battles, Warden."

Marangoz pursed his lips, and huffed through his nose. "No, ser- Mac- Loghain. I have plenty to go around."

Loghain snorted in response. "Then maybe we will make of you a general yet."

The Commander smiled, a tightly reigned thing. He turned his head, and Loghain reminded his feet to turn too. The Antivan's eyes on him made the action easy.

Still, slower. The Taint had if anything heightened his senses, after it had robbed them entirely. It could not be to blame for his reluctance.

No, he mused as he made his way through the camp, unimpeded as a skunk through market, it was only his own doubts. Paranoia, Anora might call it. Worry, as Maric often said.

Maric's voice seemed a little stronger in his memory, after the Joining. The mournful, familiar tone in the back of his mind that rose in the Commander's presence had everything to do with the Taint. The ritual had done a great many mysterious things; it made more sense to ascribe it all to that chalice, rather than on any one man.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this almost a year ago, and the thought hasn't left me. Loghain/Male Warden pining? anyone? any other poor souls lost at sea?


End file.
